A Waste of Time
by superdeath
Summary: A Dark SasuShika fic. Nothing like being a waste of time to get passions burning.


Title: A Waste of Time  
Author: superdeath  
Rating: PG13 for implied underage sex and abuse with shameless use of taboo subjects.  
Pairing: Dark SasuShika.  
Disclaimer: All disclaimers apply. I do not own Naruto and its characters in any way, shape, or form.  
o3/28/o5: re-edited and re-uploaded

**A Waste of Time**

I believe that in the beginning it was because he truly seemed not to care. It was meaningless, annoying, a 'waste of time,' as he put it. There was none of that emotion attached. He had had enough of emotion. He was absolutely writhing in it: that black, encompassing desire for revenge that he locked up behind his equally black eyes. Some believed that there was no emotion there; except for an almost disgustingly artificial cockiness and unyielding need to finish. He was to excel, it was easy for him to, him  
being the last genius of the Uchiha clan.

If he really wanted to be rid of the emotions that he drowned in every night, he could have easily gone to Naruto. It seemed to me like Naruto drove the anger from him. Apparently, he not only wished to act on his latent emotions...no, he wanted to forget them. He wanted desperately to take part in violent, heat-filled lust, the bastard child of his mixed emotions, and not have to see the pained expression of someone so emotion-filled like Naruto the next morning.

Why he even knew me was a surprise.

Of course, I knew him. Who didn't know him? He was the top in his class, the genius Uchiha, while I slept every day in the far corner. The constant attention he recieved I could care less about; I was glad there was such a person around. It simply meant I would get almost next to no attention directed at me. Naruto hated that. He was an attention-whore. Two polar opposites, Naruto and I, and I really did not think I would be good for anything in Sasuke's eyes. It was Naruto I would see him doing this to. But, as I previously said, it was apathy that Sasuke wanted.

It was late in the afternoon, and I had been minding my own business out in a nice, isolated field. The sky was a painful blue, so I did not bother pondering anything with my eyes open. I could simply fall asleep. Sleep was the best thing I could do. The only thing I really wanted to do. Besides, everything was so amazingly tiresome, I wondered why it wasn't human nature to sleep all day. Hah, maybe I'm evolved.

And there he was, all black hair and black feeling.

People that pretty are not meant to be human. I never really pondered beauty much; I knew I was inferior in the respective department, the most aesthetic thing I had going were earrings, and my family forced even those upon me. But I could tell when someone had beauty; I knew how to find small miniscule forms of it in most of my fellow genin classmates. Choji had the most spectacular hands, made me want to learn to draw, just so I could sketch them. Sakura had nice lips, I mean, the best sculpted and nicest looking than any of the other girls...Neji...another person too pretty to be alive, fell excruciatingly short of the Uchiha mark. Hah, Uchiha was a ruler to measure beauty, myself being the lowest, Uchiha being the epitome of perfection. I would give Neji his own sub-category, nicely sketched off to the side of Sasuke's sprawled kanji. All in all, though, I never really cared much about my looks; as long as flowers did not wilt in my presence nor the mirror crack in the morning, I was fine with me. I would hate to have to replace a mirror. It would be a waste of time.

But besides, I did not bother to open my eyes when I heard him. He was doing a terrible job of being stealthy, but he most likely wanted me to know he was there. I barely winced when I felt him take a bundle of my fishnet and pull me roughly towards him, but I did ask him what the hell he was doing. And he said he wanted me to be a waste of his time. I never knew Sasuke was poetic like that, you know. I told him sincerely that everything was a waste of time. It was like gothic poetry hour with him. The most I ever heard him speak about anything else except Naruto, for a full sixty minutes.

We sat, me again reclining in the grass, watching the sky change; being a waste of time to the other. That was when it was tame, when all he wanted was an ear to listen and a mouth that did not mutter sad, blank sympathies every five minutes. Aww, poor Sasuke, his brother killed his parents; he is cursed, he is lonely, he is inadequate. His self-criticizing was laughable, considering it was in total contradiction on how he acted. I really did not care at all. I wonder if that makes me less human. But, hey, like I said, I could be evolved.

And then he left, only to come back more frequently. Sadly, I think I fell into his scheme, waiting out at the field when I could, because...no matter how much I denied it, it was nice to sit around him.

He was all black hair and black feeling.

Then there was the day that he came to my house. It was late, dark, so no one would see him come to the Nara home. God forbid. No one at school knew, we did not acknowledge each other anywhere else. It was taboo. I never showed any lack or any gain of interest to him, even while Ino fawned away at him, giggling and poking me out of sleep to point out some detail of his personality. I knew none of it; there were two of him, it seemed, schoolhouse Sasuke and Uchiha of the Meadow, both of which I did not care to know. So, his coming to my house was like being caught masturbating. Not like I did that. I was far too disinterested in my body. But, it was awkward nonetheless. He actually came in through my window, the considerate bastard, leaving it open in the middle of autumn. And he crawled into my sheets, pinned me down, scratched Uchiha fingernails into Nara skin, and told me that I was nothing, and meant nothing to him. I responded that I could not care less.

Thus, we kissed.

Inevitable.

Nothing like being a waste of time to get passions burning.

After that, I became a semi-nightly punching bag and scratching post, exclusively tailor-made for Uchiha. It was almost intoxicatingly blank of all emotion. We were done before we even started. Sadly, I think it is probably the most action I am ever going to get. He needed someone to shut up and not pretend that they understood, and I... I was too apathetic to care. He truthfully needed some sincere loving attention. He needed reaction to his tears, some soft caress across his cheek. From anyone. But, I do not believe he knew that; he misinterpreted his hatred for people who cared to mean that he needed someone who did not care at all.

I was not the best thing for him.

I should have told him that. I never did. I would wake up with scratches down my back, bluish splotches of bland lust spreading across my jaw. My parents did not notice, I barely did, when I started wearing long sleeved shirts instead of my usual fishnet. I think it was because I was getting unwanted attention due to my Uchiha wounds. Choji was the first to notice, asked if I fell down the steps. Then Naruto made a big fuss about it during class. Sasuke was unfazed. He was practically untouched. I reminded myself to drag my own fingernails down his cheeks the next time he bothered to visit. I never did. Revenge was not my thing. He sure was all for it though.

And at first, it had to be about Sasuke's need for mindless, impersonal gratification. I was just perfectly equipped to provide him that. And I should have told him straight out that I was not what he needed, but I don't think that would have stopped anything. He would find something else, maybe something worse, than sliding through my window every few nights. He had that psychotic tendency about him, anyway.

I made a mistake though, and I am not sure why. It had all been silence between us, I don't remember ever hearing my name fall from his lips nor do I remember speaking his. He did not want me to become familiar; he did not want me to tell him what happened to me, what drove me, what I thought. I was faceless as far as he was concerned, a blank slate on which he could fixate any passing fancy he came across. Some nights, I may have been Sakura, others, Naruto. I was like some multipurpose lover. Go me.

But, one night, when I was out at the field, I came across him. Or, he came across me. Or we both went out to meet each other. I doubt that. I was the only one that ever really searched him out, mostly for the express reason to whine about the scratches he gave me. I never got to doing that either. He never wanted to hear about my problems. Tonight though, it was so inexplicably annoying to me. The whole situation, I mean. I was beginning to care. That was the thing. I could not just sit in my apathy any more. He was saturating my thoughts, burrowed under my skin, him and his problems and his black feeling. So I told him, straight out, in the most blandly disinterested voice I could muster.

'I can't be your waste of time anymore, Sasuke. My name is Nara Shikamaru,  
and I go to class with you. I go to sleep around half past ten, and you come  
and fuck me when you feel like it.'

That really was not the smartest thing I could have possibly done. But it gave me a face, and he did not want it. Truth was, I still did not care about him or his past. I probably could have lived my whole life with his impersonal touches and deep, dark, empty kisses. It was just I was afraid that I would have responded one day. I was afraid that I would become that caring warmth that he really needed.

And then I would be stuck.

I was to grow up normally, marry normally, and die normally. I could not be any type of stabilizing force for him. I was not good enough, neither was I dedicated enough to possibly give him the love he needed to fix his siphon of a heart.

I think I did the best thing, because he cried after I told him, and that was the most emotion I got out of him since the beginning of the mess. And there I left him, alone again, but my passing will not matter much tomorrow. He had as much feeling for me as he did for himself. I guess, however, that I could be his waste of time again. I sincerely could not care less if he forgot about my words, and came in through my window at this very moment.

In all truths, he tries too hard.

Too hard to be all black hair and black feeling.


End file.
